Color
by snarkvenger
Summary: Neal Caffrey had an odd way of looking at things. Oneshot.


_Disclaimer: White Collar and its characters do not belong to me. This story, however, does.  
**A/N**_: Okay, so, this is just a really short little oneshot based off of something one of my best friends said. Hope you guys like it, and please drop a review. They make me very happy! ^^

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Neal Caffrey had a very odd way of looking at things.

"Being in prison," he said, "is like seeing the world in black and white."

I admit, I was confused. I asked him if he meant the rules, the rigid structure of life in those walls, how each day was painfully like all the rest. He just shook his head and laughed a lighthearted laugh as the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.

"Nah," he replied. "Not like that. I mean the colors. Everything's just black in white, like in an old movie. And all the sounds are dulled. It's boring."

I took a sip of coffee and leaned back in my chair, looking him over. I asked him what he thought about the world outside of prison. He looked down, tracing the rim of his mug with his fingers while he considered his answer. I was kind of enjoying the silence when he looked up again, that smile gracing his lips.

"Everything's in color now." His eyes lit up as the words rolled off his tongue. "It's all clear, there's sound, there's life."

I asked him about life in prison then, why he thought there was none of it there. He laughed again and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I guess there is. But it's not the way it's supposed to be. People aren't supposed to be caged up like animals. The people are alive, sure, but they're not living exactly. The place has no breath in it. But once you step outside the door…It's just different. Better."

I reminded him that people were caged up like animals because society labeled them as such. Prisoners were prisoners, they get locked up. They deserved it. He looked hurt for a moment, a short one but even that little flicker made me wonder if I'd said something I shouldn't have. But then the smile was back- why was he always smiling? I asked him. He shrugged. I though he didn't have an answer, but then he tilted his head back just a little and took in a deep breath.

"I feel free," he said. "I like it."

I couldn't help but look down at his anklet and remind him that he wasn't exactly free. He had a leash, he couldn't go more than two miles away from where he lived. He was the property of the FBI. The grin didn't leave his face, though. It was like it was permanently etched on.

"It's better than bars."

Yeah, Neal Caffrey definitely had a different way of looking at the world. He saw things other people couldn't see. I guess it wasn't exactly strange. It was special, a part of him. It was what made him Neal. He had this deep understanding of things that most of us just can't fathom.

When I first met Neal I would automatically associate his name with "criminal". The two words were practically interchangeable to me. But then again, I didn't real know the man. I just knew his story, what he'd done, what I was hunting him down for. For three years I studied him and with everything I learned I felt like I was basically in this man's head. But now I know I never was. How could I be? You'd get lost in there. Forget about all the pictures of all the pretty women who'd swooned over him. Forget about all the pride from the thefts I know he got away with, and the forgeries I caught him for. Just think about how many thoughts must be roaming around in the kid's mind.

No, I never knew Neal Caffrey as well as I thought I did. There was so much more to him than I managed to learn in three years of chasing him. What it all comes down to is that you never really know someone until you take the time to listen to them talk. I didn't do that with Neal, not until he wriggled his way into his FBI custody. And now I was finding out much more than I anticipated.

After we sat in a semi-comfortable silence for a few minutes I asked Neal if he was ready to go. After all, there was a stack of case files waiting in the office for us.

"Just give me a few minutes," he said, standing up and letting himself back inside. Once I was sure he was gone I stood up and went over to stand at the great stone railing of the balcony. I rested my arms on it and leaned forward, looking down at the city streets. There were people rushing along the sidewalk and cars honking at each other and zipping up and down the streets. Joggers were running their morning miles and people were walking their dogs. They were all dressed differently- teenagers in ratty jeans and oversized hoodie sweatshirts waiting at the bus stop, important-looking men and women in business suits chatting away on their cell phones, a toddler in denim overalls tugging at his mother's hands, trying to get her to look at the puppy on the other side of the street.

"You see it now, don't you?"

I jumped a little, not expected to hear Neal. I regained my composer and turned around to face him. I told him I didn't know what he was talking about.

"The color," he said. "You can see it."

His smile grew wider and it made me smile, too. I couldn't help it. He was right. I understood now. Neal was right. The world can be seen all different ways, and different places had all different tones to them. I thought back to the meeting I'd had with Neal in prison, back when he first proposed his plan, and realized that the walls did look a little bit grey, the people all looked pale, all of the hallways were dark and the air was tight and hard to breath. But out here there was life all around us. I could see the color now.


End file.
